The Slynx by Tatyana Tolstaya Page A

Consequence they have.
    When our people don't have anything to do, they sometimes get together in the evening at the Cockynork settlement, climb up on the fence, look all around, and laugh. Hey, Cockynorks, how come your noses are hanging down? Trying to smell your shoes? We'll wipe your noses for you! They run out and they're all mad. It's so funny--they close their shutters tight, hustle the children into the house, chattering blah-blah-blah all the while. And if you throw a rock and hit one of them on the forehead, he yells ouuuuch! But he doesn't grab the lump with his hand, he uses his nose instead, and that's really hysterical. Our lads nearly fall off the fence laughing.
    Ivan Beefich, who has a little hut on Rubbish Pond, loves these kinds of pranks so much that he collects rocks--he digs them up in his garden and saves them in a barrel. If the lads are heading off to the settlement, they can't sneak by him, he knows, he keeps watch out the window. Wait, guys, take me with you, I won't make it on my own!
    Ivan Beefich has really bad Consequences. His head, arms, and shoulders are all strong, straight, and powerful, it would take three days to unscramble them, as they say. But right after his underarms come the soles of his feet, and in the middle there's an udder. That's what Nikita Ivanich called it: an "udder," but we don't have a word like that, why would we, what do we need it for, it's not in any books. We just call it titties.
    Sometimes there's a mix-up of course. Once the guys went to tease the Cockynorks and one of them carried Ivan Beefich piggyback. He had two whole capfuls of rocks, and was singing. He's master singer of old songs. He starts off with: "Hey, Dunya, Dunya, Dunya, die, she clobbered Vanya in the eye!" And he wiggles his shoulders and rolls his eyes, his teeth sparkle all white--a real dashing daredevil, that fellow. Of course, since he was singing, the Cockynorks heard him coming, they shut their windows and doors and hid out, only they forgot one old man in the yard. Well, he got it from everyone. And that nasty old man got so mad, he picked up a rock with his nose, just like it was his hand, and pow! He bonked Ivan Beefich right on the udder. Ivan Beefich went plop--and lay there. Our lads got furious: how
    dare they hit one of our guys--and they tore up half the Cocky-nork settlement.
    That kind of thing happens mostly on holidays when people are in a good mood; on weekdays everyone's plenty busy, our people work in government service, then they make soup or smoke rusht. The Cockynorks weave bags and baskets from mouse tails, very fancy, intricate--and then they trade them at the market. Cockynorks aren't good for anything else.
    Sometimes when you're running by their settlement, you'll throw something and then head for the bog. It only takes a week for fresh rusht to sprout, reddish or with a hint of green. It's good for smoking. And the older stuff is browner, it's better for paint or mead. You stuff fine rusht into a dry leaf, roll a smoke, and knock on an izba door to ask for a light. If they don't sock you in the forehead right away, they might grumble a bit, take pity, and give you a light. You walk along puffing, and you feel warmer, like you're not alone, and it seems like the faces of the Golubchiks you run into along the way aren't so beastly after all.
    ZHIVETE
    Benedikt is moody, he knows that himself. No two days are ever the same. Some mornings he's full of boundless energy, every muscle is ready to spring into action. Feels like turning half the world upside down. That's when he wants to work with his hands. In that kind of mood you look for something to do: chop or plane logs, or fix something at home, make an ax or a jug, maybe hollow out a bucket. Once, in a mood like that he smoothed out a dozen planks for the roof. Honest! A whole dozen! Well, maybe not a dozen, but three for sure. That's a lot too. At times like that you feel like singing. Loud.
    Sometimes the doldrums