The Fair at Sorochintsi

VI

What a misfortune! Roman is coming; here he is, he’ll give me a drubbing in a minute; and you, too, master Khomo, will not get off without trouble.

From a Little Russian comedy

“This way, Afanasy Ivanovich! The fence is lower here, put your foot up and don’t be afraid: my idiot has gone off for the night with his crony to the wagons to see that the Muscovites don’t steal anything but ill-luck.”

So Cherevik’s menacing spouse fondly encouraged the priest’s son, who was faintheartedly clinging to the fence. He soon climbed onto the top and stood there for some time in hesitation, like a long terrible phantom, looking where he could best jump and at last coming down with a crash among the rank weeds.

“How dreadful! I hope you have not hurt yourself? Please God, you’ve not broken your neck!” Khivrya faltered anxiously.

“Sh! It’s all right, it’s all right, dear Khavronya Nikiforovna,” the priest’s son brought out in a painful whisper, getting onto his feet, “except for being afflicted by the nettles, that serpentlike weed, to use the words of our late head priest.”

“Let us go into the house; there is nobody there. I was beginning to think you were ill or asleep, Afanasy Ivanovich: you did not come and did not come. How are you? I hear that your honored father has had a run of good luck!”

“Nothing to speak of, Khavronya Nikiforovna: during the whole fast Father has received nothing but fifteen sacks of spring wheat, four sacks of millet, a hundred buns; and as for fowls they don’t amount to fifty, and the eggs were mostly rotten. But the truly sweet offerings, so to say, can only come from you, Khavronya Nikiforovna!” the priest’s son continued, with a tender glance at her as he edged nearer.

“Here is an offering for you, Afanasy Ivanovich!” she said, setting some bowls on the table and coyly fastening the buttons of her jacket as though they had not been undone on purpose, “curd doughnuts, wheaten dumplings, buns, and cakes!”

“I bet they have been made by the cleverest hands of any daughter of Eve!” said the priest’s son, setting to work upon the cakes and with the other hand drawing the curd doughnuts toward him.

“Though indeed, Khavronya Nikiforovna, my heart thirsts for a gift from you sweeter than any buns or dumplings!”

“Well, I don’t know what dainty you will ask for next, Afanasy Ivanovich!” answered the buxom beauty, pretending not to understand.

“Your love, of course, incomparable Khavronya Nikiforovna!” the priest’s son whispered, holding a doughnut in one hand and encircling her ample waist with his arm.

“Goodness knows what you are thinking about, Afanasy Ivanovich!” said Khivrya, bashfully casting down her eyes. “Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if you tried to kiss me next!”

“As for that, I must tell you,” the young man went on. “When I was still at the seminary, I remember as though it were today…”

At that moment there was a sound of barking and a knock at the gate. Khivrya ran out quickly and came back looking pale.

“Afanasy Ivanovich, we are caught: there are a lot of people knocking, and I think I heard Tsibulya’s voice…”

A dumpling stuck in the young man’s throat…. His eyes almost popped out of his head, as though someone had just come from the other world to visit him.

“Climb up here!” cried the panic-stricken Khivrya, pointing to some boards that lay across the rafters just below the ceiling, loaded with all sorts of domestic odds and ends.

Danger gave our hero courage. Recovering a little, he clambered on the stove and from there climbed cautiously onto the boards, while Khivrya ran headlong to the gate, as the knocking was getting louder and more insistent.