It was August. For days the sky had been cloudless, the sun scorched
unbearably and from early morning the warm wind raised a whirl of hot
sand from the sand-drifts and from the road, and bore it in the air
through the reeds, the trees, and the village. The grass and the leaves
on the trees were covered with dust, the roads and dried-up salt
marshes were baked so hard that they rang when trodden on. The water
had long since subsided in the Térek and rapidly vanished and dried up
in the ditches. The slimy banks of the pond near the village were
trodden bare by the cattle and all day long you could hear the
splashing of water and the shouting of girls and boys bathing. The
sand-drifts and the reeds were already drying up in the steppes, and
the cattle, lowing, ran into the fields in the day-time. The boars
migrated into the distant reed-beds and to the hills beyond the Térek.
Mosquitoes and gnats swarmed in thick clouds over the low lands and
villages. The snow-peaks were hidden in grey mist. The air was rarefied
and smoky. It was said that _abreks_ had crossed the now shallow river
and were prowling on this side of it. Every night the sun set in a
glowing red blaze. It was the busiest time of the year. The villagers
all swarmed in the melon-fields and the vineyards. The vineyards
thickly overgrown with twining verdure lay in cool, deep shade.
Everywhere between the broad translucent leaves, ripe, heavy, black
clusters peeped out. Along the dusty road from the vineyards the
creaking carts moved slowly, heaped up with black grapes. Clusters of
them, crushed by the wheels, lay in the dirt. Boys and girls in smocks
stained with grape-juice, with grapes in their hands and mouths, ran
after their mothers. On the road you continually came across tattered
labourers with baskets of grapes on their powerful shoulders; Cossack
maidens, veiled with kerchiefs to their eyes, drove bullocks harnessed
to carts laden high with grapes. Soldiers who happened to meet these
carts asked for grapes, and the maidens, clambering up without stopping
their carts, would take an armful of grapes and drop them into the
skirts of the soldiers’ coats. In some homesteads they had already
begun pressing the grapes; and the smell of the emptied skins filled
the air. One saw the blood-red troughs in the pent-houses in the yards
and Nogáy labourers with their trousers rolled up and their legs
stained with the juice. Grunting pigs gorged themselves with the empty
skins and rolled about in them. The flat roofs of the outhouses were
all spread over with the dark amber clusters drying in the sun. Daws
and magpies crowded round the roofs, picking the seeds and fluttering
from one place to another.
The fruits of the year’s labour were being merrily gathered in, and
this year the fruit was unusually fine and plentiful.
In the shady green vineyards amid a sea of vines, laughter, songs,
merriment, and the voices of women were to be heard on all sides, and
glimpses of their bright-coloured garments could be seen.
Just at noon Maryánka was sitting in their vineyard in the shade of a
peach-tree, getting out the family dinner from under an unharnessed
cart. Opposite her, on a spread-out horse-cloth, sat the cornet (who
had returned from the school) washing his hands by pouring water on
them from a little jug. Her little brother, who had just come straight
out of the pond, stood wiping his face with his wide sleeves, and gazed
anxiously at his sister and his mother and breathed deeply, awaiting
his dinner. The old mother, with her sleeves rolled up over her strong
sunburnt arms, was arranging grapes, dried fish, and clotted cream on a
little low, circular Tartar table. The cornet wiped his hands, took off
his cap, crossed himself, and moved nearer to the table. The boy seized
the jug and eagerly began to drink. The mother and daughter crossed
their legs under them and sat down by the table. Even in the shade it
was intolerably hot. The air above the vineyard smelt unpleasant: the
strong warm wind passing amid the branches brought no coolness, but
only monotonously bent the tops of the pear, peach, and mulberry trees
with which the vineyard was sprinkled. The cornet, having crossed
himself once more, took a little jug of _chikhir_ that stood behind him
covered with a vine-leaf, and having had a drink from the mouth of the
jug passed it to the old woman. He had nothing on over his shirt, which
was unfastened at the neck and showed his shaggy muscular chest. His
fine-featured cunning face looked cheerful; neither in his attitude nor
in his words was his usual wiliness to be seen; he was cheerful and
natural.
“Shall we finish the bit beyond the shed tonight?” he asked, wiping his
wet beard.
“We’ll manage it,” replied his wife, “if only the weather does not
hinder us. The Dëmkins have not half finished yet,” she added. “Only
Ústenka is at work there, wearing herself out.”
“What can you expect of them?” said the old man proudly.
“Here, have a drink, Maryánka dear!” said the old woman, passing the
jug to the girl. “God willing we’ll have enough to pay for the wedding
feast,” she added.
“That’s not yet awhile,” said the cornet with a slight frown.
The girl hung her head.
“Why shouldn’t we mention it?” said the old woman. “The affair is
settled, and the time is drawing near too.”
“Don’t make plans beforehand,” said the cornet. “Now we have the
harvest to get in.”
“Have you seen Lukáshka’s new horse?” asked the old woman. “That which
Dmítri Andréich Olénin gave him is gone — he’s exchanged it.”
“No, I have not; but I spoke with the servant today,” said the cornet,
“and he said his master has again received a thousand rubles.”
“Rolling in riches, in short,” said the old woman.
The whole family felt cheerful and contented.
The work was progressing successfully. The grapes were more abundant
and finer than they had expected. After dinner Maryánka threw some
grass to the oxen, folded her _beshmet_ for a pillow, and lay down
under the wagon on the juicy down-trodden grass. She had on only a red
kerchief over her head and a faded blue print smock, yet she felt
unbearably hot. Her face was burning, and she did not know where to put
her feet, her eyes were moist with sleepiness and weariness, her lips
parted involuntarily, and her chest heaved heavily and deeply.
The busy time of year had begun a fortnight ago and the continuous
heavy labour had filled the girl’s life. At dawn she jumped up, washed
her face with cold water, wrapped herself in a shawl, and ran out
barefoot to see to the cattle. Then she hurriedly put on her shoes and
her _beshmet_ and, taking a small bundle of bread, she harnessed the
bullocks and drove away to the vineyards for the whole day. There she
cut the grapes and carried the baskets with only an hour’s interval for
rest, and in the evening she returned to the village, bright and not
tired, dragging the bullocks by a rope or driving them with a long
stick. After attending to the cattle, she took some sunflower seeds in
the wide sleeve of her smock and went to the corner of the street to
crack them and have some fun with the other girls. But as soon as it
was dusk she returned home, and after having supper with her parents
and her brother in the dark outhouse, she went into the hut, healthy
and free from care, and climbed onto the oven, where half drowsing she
listened to their lodger’s conversation. As soon as he went away she
would throw herself down on her bed and sleep soundly and quietly till
morning. And so it went on day after day. She had not seen Lukáshka
since the day of their betrothal, but calmly awaited the wedding. She
had got used to their lodger and felt his intent looks with pleasure.