His living-rooms, the kitchen, the shop, and the granary, where
formerly his liquor-trade had been carried on, constituted a single
mass under one iron roof. On three sides the straw-thatched sheds
of the cattle-yard were closely connected with it, and a pleasing
quadrangle was thus obtained. The porch and all the windows faced
the south. But the view was cut off by the grain-sheds, which stood
opposite the windows and across the road. To the right was the railway
station, to the left the highway. Beyond the highway was a small grove
of birches. And when Tikhon Ilitch felt out of sorts, he went out on
the highway. It ran southward in a white winding ribbon from hillock
to hillock, ever following the fields in their declivities and rising
again toward the horizon from the far-away watch-tower, where the
railway, coming from the south-east, intersected it. And if any one
of the Durnovka peasants chanced to be driving to Ulianovka--one of
the more energetic and clever, that is, such as Yakoff, whom every
one called Yakoff Mikititch[6] because he was greedy, and held fast
to his little store of grain a second year, and owned three excellent
horses--Tikhon Ilitch stopped him.
“You might buy yourself a cheap little cap with a visor, at least!” he
shouted to Yakoff, with a grin.
Yakoff, in a peakless cap, hemp-crash shirt, and trousers of heavy
striped linen, was sitting barefoot on the side-rail of his springless
cart.
“’Morning, Tikhon Ilitch,” he said, staidly.
“’Morning! I tell you, ’tis time you sacrificed your round cap for a
jackdaw’s nest!”
Yakoff, grinning shrewdly earthwards, shook his head.
“That--how should it be expressed?--would not be a bad idea. But, you
see, my capital, so to speak, will not permit.”
“Oh, stop your babbling. We know all about you Kazan orphans![7] You’ve
married off your girl, and got a wife for your lad, and you have plenty
of money. What more is there left for you to want from the Lord God?”
This flattered Yakoff, but he became more uncommunicative than ever.
“O, Lord!” he muttered, with a sigh, in a sort of chuckling tone.
“Money--I don’t know the sight of it, so to speak. And my lad--well,
what of him? The boy’s no comfort to me. No comfort at all, to speak
the plain truth! Young folks are no comfort nowadays!”
Yakoff, like many peasants, was extremely nervous, especially if his
family or his affairs were in question. He was remarkably secretive,
but on such occasions nervousness overpowered him, although only his
disconnected, trembling speech betrayed the fact. So, in order to
complete his disquiet, Tikhon Ilitch inquired sympathetically: “So he
isn’t a comfort? Tell me, pray, is it all because of the woman?”
Yakoff, looking about him, scratched his breast with his finger-nails.
“Yes, because of the woman, his wife, his father may go break his back
with work.”
“Is she jealous?”
“Yes, she is. People set me down as the lover of my daughter-in-law.”
“H’m!” ejaculated Tikhon Ilitch sympathetically, although he knew full
well that there is never smoke without fire.
But Yakoff’s eyes were already wandering: “She complained to her
husband; how she complained! And, just think, she wanted to poison
me. Sometimes, for example, a fellow catches cold and smokes a bit to
relieve his chest. Well, she noticed that--and stuck a cigarette under
my pillow. If I hadn’t happened to see it--I’d have been done for!”
“What sort of a cigarette?”
“She had pounded up the bones of dead men, and stuffed it with that in
place of tobacco.”
“That boy of yours is a fool! He ought to teach her a lesson, in
Russian style--the damned hussy!”
“What are you thinking of! He climbed on my breast, so to speak. And he
wriggled like a serpent. I grabbed him by the head, but his head was
shaved! I grabbed hold of his stomach. I hated to tear his shirt!”
Tikhon Ilitch shook his head, remained silent for a minute, and at
last reached a decision: “Well, and how are things going with you over
there? Are you still expecting the rebellion?”
But thereupon Yakoff’s secrecy was restored instantaneously. He grinned
and waved his hand. “Well!” he muttered volubly. “What would we do
with a rebellion? Our folks are peaceable. Yes, a peaceable lot.” And
he tightened the reins, as though his horse were restive and would not
stand.
“Then why did you have a village assembly last Sunday?” Tikhon Ilitch
maliciously and abruptly interjected.
“A village assembly, did you say? The plague only knows! They started
an awful row, so to speak.”
“I know what the row was about! I know!”
“Well, what of it? I’m not making a secret of it. They gabbled, so to
speak, said orders had been issued--orders had been issued--that no one
was to work any more at the former price.”
It was extremely mortifying to reflect that, because of wretched little
Durnovka, affairs were escaping from his grasp. And there were only
thirty homesteads altogether in that same Durnovka. And it was situated
in a devil of a ravine: a broad gorge, with peasant cottages on one
side, and on the other the tiny manor. And that manor exchanged glances
with the cottages and from day to day expected some “order.” Ekh, he’d
like to apply a few kazaks with their whips to the situation!