The Fair at Sorochintsi

III

Do you see what a sort of a fellow he is?
Not many like him in the world.
Tosses off vodka like beer!

KOTLYAREVSKY, The Aeneid

“So you think, neighbor, that our wheat won’t sell well?” said a man, who looked like an artisan of some big village, in dirty tar-stained trousers of coarse homespun material, to another, with a big bump on his forehead, wearing a dark blue jacket patched in different parts.

“It’s not a matter of thinking: I am ready to put a halter around my neck and hang from that tree like a sausage in the hut before Christmas, if we sell a single bushel.”

“What nonsense are you talking, neighbor? No wheat has been brought except ours,” answered the man in the homespun trousers.

“Yes, you may say what you like,” thought the father of our beauty, who had not missed a single word of the dealer’s conversation. “I have ten sacks here in reserve.”

“Well, you see, it’s like this: if there is any devilry mixed up in a thing, you will get no more profit from it than a hungry Muscovite,”  the man with the bump on his forehead said significantly.

“What do you mean by devilry?” retorted the man in the homespun trousers.

“Did you hear what people are saying?” went on he of the bumpy forehead, giving him a sidelong look out of his gloomy eyes.

“Well?”

“Ah, you may say, well! The assessor, may he never wipe his lips again after the gentry’s plum brandy, has set aside an evil spot for the fair, where you may burst before you get rid of a single grain. Do you see that old dilapidated barn which stands there, see, under the hill?” (At this point the inquisitive peasant went closer and was all attention.) “All manner of devilish tricks go on in that barn, and not a single fair has taken place in this spot without trouble. The district clerk passed it late last night and all of a sudden a pig’s snout looked out from the window of the loft, and grunted so that it sent a shiver down his back. You may be sure that the red jacket will be seen again!”

“What’s that about a red jacket?”

Our attentive listener’s hair stood up on his head at these words. He looked around in alarm and saw that his daughter and the young man were calmly standing in each other’s arms, murmuring soft nothings to each other and oblivious of every colored jacket in the world. This dispelled his terror and restored his equanimity.

“Aha-ha-ha, neighbor! You know how to hug a girl, it seems! I had been married three days before I learned to hug my late Khveska, and I owed that to a friend who was my best man: he gave me a hint.”

The youth saw at once that his fair one’s father was not very bright, and began making a plan for disposing him in his favor.

“I believe you don’t know me, good friend, but I recognized you at once.”

“Maybe you did.”

“If you like I’ll tell you your name and your surname and everything about you: your name is Solopy Cherevik.”

“Yes, Solopy Cherevik.”

“Well, have a good look: don’t you know me?”

“No, I don’t know you. No offense meant: I’ve seen so many faces of all sorts in my day, how the hell can one remember them all?”

“I am sorry you don’t remember Golopupenko’s son!”

“Why, is Okhrim your father?”

“Who else? Maybe he’s the devil if he’s not!”

At this the friends took off their caps and proceeded to kiss each other; our Golopupenko’s son made up his mind, however, to attack his new acquaintance without loss of time.

“Well, Solopy, you see, your daughter and I have so taken to each other that we are ready to spend our lives together.”

“Well, Paraska,” said Cherevik, laughing and turning to his daughter; “maybe you really might, as they say… you and he… graze on the same grass! Come, shall we shake hands on it? And now, my new son-in-law, buy me a glass!”

And all three found themselves in the famous refreshment bar of the fair—a Jewess’s booth, decorated with a huge assortment of jars, bottles, and flasks of every kind and description.

“Well, you are a smart fellow! I like you for that,” said Cherevik, a little exhilarated, seeing how his intended son-in-law filled a pint mug and, without winking an eyelash, tossed it off at a gulp, flinging down the mug afterward and smashing it to bits. “What do you say, Paraska? Haven’t I found you a fine husband? Look, look how he downs his drink!”

And laughing and staggering he went with her toward his wagon; while our young man made his way to the booths where fancy goods were displayed, where there were even dealers from Gadyach and Mirgorod, the two famous towns of the province of Poltava, to pick out the best wooden pipe in a smart copper setting, a flowered red kerchief and cap, for wedding presents to his father-in-law and everyone else who must have one.